Diary of a Madman: The Rewrite
by Murkatroyd
Summary: OneShot. A brief look on the life of Morfin Gaunt, and his conflict with the Muggle he loathed. Contains scenes from Book 6. Amendments made to the original story.


The village of Little Hangleton was not popular, nor was it exciting. It was not known to many people aside from those who lived there. It was known to most as 'the forgotten land', and the Muggles – non-magical folks – made no effort to change or deny this name given to their town. It had been revealed to them simply by rumor.

The population of the village was not high; there were maybe a few hundred at most. The villagers cared more about their heritage than anything else. Most of the folks who lived in the village had descended from people who had also lived there. The inhabiting families were therefore quite old – some even dated back to earlier centuries in the millennium – and most everyone knew each other on some level. Very few people moved into the village from other areas of the world – why would they, with such an unwelcome crowd in such a boring village? None who lived in the village cared for outsiders, but there was one family that the villagers cared about less still: a family that was quite wealthy, and whose ancestors dated back just as far. This family was the Riddle family.

The Riddles were the richest people in the area by far. They lived in a large manor, larger than any building in the areas for miles, which sat at the top of a large hill overlooking an enormous yard. They owned the majority of the valley in which the village was located. Predictably, they were not well-liked: Thomas and Mary Riddle were rude, uncaring, and did not mingle with any who they had deemed to be beneath them, a description applied to nearly the entire town.

They had a son, Tom, their only child. He did not greatly resemble his parents in looks, but he was an exact replica of them on every other level. He mingled only with upper class members of the society, was seen frequently with high-level, beautiful women in the village, and rode on a horse through the valley every day. Other than these women, Tom Riddle did not have many friends within the village, and he was the frequent subject of gossip.

If the Riddles were rich, however, their opposites were met only in another family. They lived on the other side of the village, out of the common way. This was the Gaunt family, and they were known by their poverty and their snobbish arrogance, rivaled only by the Riddles.

The Gaunts were everything the Riddles were not: dirt-poor, unhealthy, inbred, and living out of sight of the other villagers. The only thing that Marvolo Gaunt, the family patriarch, cared about was his ancestry. He did not seem to care in the slightest that he had nothing but heirlooms of his own ancestors. He had two children, born from a woman who was rumored to be a direct cousin of the man, who had died in childbirth of the second child. These children's names were Morfin and Merope, the son and daughter respectively, who were roughly the same age and who were independent. Yet you would never find two siblings who were so different.

Merope Gaunt was a sickly girl who did not know of a life outside of serving her family. She was the one who cooked and cleaned – if, by merely looking at the shack they lived in, you could call it cleaning – and she wore the heirloom of Salazar Slytherin, an ancestor of the Gaunts who had lived several hundreds of years previously and who had made an impact on the world by helping to found the greatest magical school in the world. The heirloom, a locket with the 'S' for Slytherin imprinted upon it in emerald jewels, was treasured far more than Merope was, and she was to inherit it upon Marvolo's death only because she was his daughter. She rarely spoke, and it was not quite known whether she could perform magic. Marvolo did not care, as long as she could cook.

Morfin was far different from his sister. Though mad, he had his father's pride, and he was to inherit Marvolo's other heirloom, a ring with the Peverell (another of their ancestors) coat of arms set upon it. He was loyal to his father and had, as Merope had, inherited the ability to speak Parseltongue, the language of the snakes. He had a love of serpents that seemed unmatched by all, and he carried a wand and a short knife around. All those who were unfortunate enough to meet him were reminded of madness. Like his father, he held a severe dislike toward non-magical people, and he attacked them when he saw them.

It was rare that Morfin left the small property that belonged to the Gaunts. Their house was little more than a shack, and their land consisted of a small amount of earth surrounding it. He rarely spoke in any language other than Parseltongue.

He recalled what he had done just last night …

* * *

Morfin watched from atop a tree in front of his house, staring at the gravel path that passed by their small area. He held his wand in one hand, the other holding a branch to keep him steady. Years of practice had made him an expert; he did not even need magic. His knife, which he treasured as much as his wand was tied to his waist by a small cord he had found on the ground, blackened with soot.

He was waiting for the Muggle to come. He wanted to see the Muggle who had his sister's attention and – quite clearly to him – her interest.

He giggled with delight. The filthy Muggle was going to wish he were dead after he was through with him.

Morfin looked down at his wand. He had caused a lot of pain with this wand, but he couldn't remember ever killing another human with it. He liked toying with people and causing pain, sure – the Cruciatus curse, a curse that made one feel as though their insides were on fire, was one of his favorites. His father had used it on him several times in the past when Morfin had disobeyed him, but Marvolo had not done this in a long time. Perhaps this had contributed to Morfin's madness, or perhaps it was other factors. Morfin didn't care.

He had only killed another human on one occasion. When he was twelve years old, he had been in his yard near the tree he stood in now, talking to a garden snake. Back then, he had been nearly normal, or at least not as mad: his eyes had not been looking in different directions, and he had not attacked anything he saw. The garden snake had been mentioning something about 'hog warts', whatever that was, when a man had passed by. He looked as Morfin made a horrible hissing noise, and the snake made the same noises back at him.

The man had been terrified. Morfin, who had been a little frightened himself by the reaction of the man, had tried to reassure him that there was no reason to fear the snake, but it hadn't worked. Instead, the man had picked up a fist-sized rock and chucked it at the snake, aiming at its head. Morfin had saved the snake by blasting the rock to pieces with a spell that his father had taught him. This made the man scream, and he'd then taken a knife from his pocket, run over and stabbed the snake in the head. That had been the last straw for Morfin. He had slowly pointed his wand at the man and fired a hex that covered the man's face and arms in boils. The man's screams had turned to screams of pain, and he had hence not noticed when Morfin pulled the knife from the snake's head. The knife had elongated by a couple of inches in his grip, and Morfin had silenced the man's screams by chucking it at him. It had struck the man in the neck, killing him instantly.

Morfin had carried the knife with him ever since, its blade still as sharp and long as it had always been, and nobody had ever found out about the man's death. Ever since that day, Morfin had held a deep-seated hatred for Muggles, especially Muggle men, for killing his snake, but he had never killed again. He had nailed the snake to his front door as some sort of bizarre tribute. His father had not cared enough to remove it, and Merope would stab herself with the knife before going against what Morfin did.

He heard the sound of hooves, and he looked up, broken from his reverie. A horse was coming up the road, and on it was a young man with dark hair and a handsome face. He looked down and saw Merope inside the window, staring out in the direction of the young man with a lustful look on her face. Morfin took one look at him and grinned madly, his insanity taking over once more, and stuck his wand in the pocket beside his knife.

The man on the horse was coming toward the tree when Morfin jumped into the air and landed five feet in front of the horse, which let out a noise of surprise and stopped in its tracks, the man almost dropped from its back. Morfin pushed his dirty hair out of his eyes and his grin twisted, almost like a sneer. Merope fell back and moved further into the house, apparently not wanting to watch what she must know would happen.

The man stepped down from the horse, facing Morfin. He was not armed, and he looked at Morfin as though he were another bit of dirt on the gravel path.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked with contempt in his voice, never taking his eyes off of Morfin's dirty hair, which was down to his shoulders. His eyes narrowed in disgust. "Get out of my way, scum!"

Morfin merely grinned. He had not had much contact with other villagers in the six years since he had killed the other Muggle man; he had gone a few times, but not for more than a little ruckus. He did not care much what this man apparently thought of himself, and the other man seemed to realize this too late.

"I am the heir to the Riddle family," said the man coldly. "Get out of my way! I have no business with paupers like you!"

Morfin did not reply. His snake had slithered out of the tree towards him, and he bent down, lowering one arm, to let the snake slither to his shoulders. This made Riddle's look fill with even more disgust.

"I will not tell you again," Riddle snarled. "If you do not move, I will see to it that you are removed from this area for good."

Morfin laughed at this, clutching the wand in his pocket tightly. Flicking his head to let the hair out of his eyes, he looked at Riddle, who now looked a little unnerved.

"I will not repeat myself! _Get out of my –_"

He was unable to finish this sentence, however, as Morfin pulled his wand and fired off a spell faster than Riddle could comprehend. The hex hit Riddle full in the face, which was slowly covering in rather painful hives.

Riddle screamed in pain, falling to his knees and clutching his face, as Morfin howled with mirthless laughter.

"_You won't look so good to my sister now, Muggle!_" Morfin sneered, speaking in Parseltongue. If Riddle had heard him, he would not have understood. He did not give any indication that he had heard, however, as he had started to run, screaming, from the spot, his horse galloping after him. Morfin laughed, watching them run, and walked back towards his tree, his snake hissing its approval to him in Parseltongue.

* * *

He stood in his tree, breaking from his reverie and watched the road, wondering if the Muggle would ever reappear. His father had told him about Memory Charms, and he wondered if another wizard had performed one on the filthy Muggle after healing him. Morfin giggled again, remembering the Muggle's reaction to his spell. Grinning under his mop of hair, he walked into the shack, knowing that if the Muggle ever came back, he'd hex him away again. It had only been last night, but he snorted derisively at it all the same.

Inside, he saw his father ripping up what looked to be another Ministry letter.

"_What's it this time, Father?_" asked Morfin in Parseltongue, staring at the shreds of paper on the table and wondering what it could possibly have been about.

"Another letter from the ruddy Ministry of Magic," sneered Gaunt, who did not pay the pile of shreds another look as he chucked them in the fireplace, which he lit by throwing a match in it. He quickly switched to Parseltongue as well. "_Who knows what it's about? They probably think you did something to another filthy Muggle. I don't know or care._"

Morfin grinned. His father knew full well about all the Muggles he had hexed. The Ministry had not done anything outside of sending letters yet, but Marvolo knew it was only a matter of time.

"_Who cares, anyway?_" snapped Marvolo. "_They're all worthless! They can't even defend themselves against us! Muggles and Mudbloods and filth … It's us pure-bloods what matter, we're the real wizards!_"

Morfin giggled.

"_MEROPE!_" shouted Marvolo, standing up again, his large arms drooping a little. "_GET OUT HERE!_"

Almost immediately, Merope came out of her room. She looked terrified. Obediently, she walked over to her father and stood still, not moving a muscle. Morfin grinned again, looking at his sister, who was almost trembling in her dirty long dress.

"_Y-Yes, Father?_" asked Merope, the fear in her voice evident even in her Parseltongue language.

"_I want food. Make it!_" Marvolo snapped.

Merope nodded and immediately went to the small section of the shack which looked like a kitchen. Rummaging through the cupboards filled with pots and pans, she worked frantically.

"_W-What do you want to eat, Father?_" called Merope, still visibly shaking.

"_I don't care what it is as long as it's meat!_" called back Marvolo, and he walked out of the room, leaving Merope to gather the materials needed to make dinner hurriedly. Morfin stood to the side and watched her, amused by what was going on before his crossed eyes.

"_How's the man?_" Morfin asked with a slight sneer.

Merope stopped in her tracks, wheeling around. Her face was pearly white.

"_W-What do you m-mean?_" she asked, horrified.

Morfin laughed mirthlessly.

"_Father might not know, Merope, but I do. I've seen him. Nice looking bloke, ain't he? Or don't you remember how I saw you last night, when he came round on his horse? I saw you staring at him, Merope._"

He felt amusement as he spoke, and he delighted in seeing Merope lose any remaining color she might have had, the pot of what looked to be roasted moose forgotten on the stove.

"_You're lucky Father doesn't know, sister. He'd disown you without a second thought … or kill you. You'd best hope I don't tell him. Oh,_" he added as an afterthought, his grin widening maliciously, "_if he looks like he's got hives, don't be too offended. I thought it was a nice touch._"

Cackling madly at his deed, he left Merope, who now looked terrified for her life, and walked back outside.

* * *

Morfin watched, his eyes still staring in opposite directions, but able to see quite clearly. A man was walking up the gravel path.

The man couldn't have looked more like an idiot than he did already if he tried. He was wearing what looked to be a swimming suit – Morfin had seen people pass by wearing them before – underneath a business suit. The man looked completely ridiculous. Morfin pulled out both his wand and his knife, which was a bit bloodier than usual, and continued to watch the man.

As he watched, he noticed that the man was walking right towards their area.

Morfin sneered a little. Though his ragged clothing hung from him like cloth, he knew the man would not care if he was here to see him; it made no difference even if he did care. Morfin narrowed his eyes, pushing his matted hair out of them, and bent down a little. He was going to take the man by surprise, because by the way the man was looking at his house, grimy and moss-covered, he knew the man was coming for them.

As the Ministry man walked into the yard, Morfin jumped from the tree, landing directly in front of the man. The man stumbled and tripped over the tails of his coat, falling to the ground.

Morfin raised his knife, as though trying to make a point that he did not want the man here.

"_You're not welcome!_" he hissed.

The man, who had stood up and backed away slightly, looked confused, but Morfin ignored it – he was more interested in making sure the man fled, right now. It was the only thing that was able to cross his mind at this moment.

"Er – good morning," the man said. "I'm from the Ministry of Magic –"

Morfin cut across him, his madness taking over.

"_You're not welcome!_" he hissed again, wondering why the stupid man wasn't getting the point. Was he simply dim?

'Er – I'm sorry – I don't understand you …' the man said, looking wary.

Morfin ignored his voice. He began to walk towards the man, waving his knife a little. He remembered how his father had mentioned the Ministry, and he had no interest in listening to this man, who was clearly a Ministry member. He held his wand tightly.

"Now, look –"

BANG!

Morfin's wand was at his face, and now the Ministry man fell to the ground again, clutching his nose, which had begun spewing out a yellowish liquid. Morfin laughed mirthlessly, and he raised his wand again –

"Morfin!"

His father's voice rang through the yard, and he lowered his wand again, not bothering to look around. Marvolo Gaunt ran over to where they were and looked down at the man on the ground. Morfin continued laughing.

"Ministry, is it?" Marvolo asked, looking down at the man with disgust.

"Correct!" said the man, looking angrily at the two while trying to staunch the flow of the yellow liquid. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?"

"S'right. Got you in the face, did he?"

"Yes, he did!" snapped the man.

Marvolo's face did not soften in the slightest; on the contrary, he looked colder, more aggressive, than before.

"Should've made your presence known, then, shouldn't you?" he snarled. He gestured to their land. "This is private property. Can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."

The man looked angrier at this as he got to his feet.

"Defend himself from what, man?" he asked coldly.

"Busybodies. Intruders." Marvolo Gaunt's eyes narrowed. "Muggles and filth."

The Ministry official did not reply to this. He took out his own wand and stopped the flow of yellow liquid coming from his nose at once. Marvolo's look of disgust was quite prominent now, but he did not adjust it. His eyes met Morfin's, and he whispered to him in Parseltongue.

"_Get in the house. Don't argue._"

Morfin didn't want to leave yet. He wanted to entertain himself some more with the stupid man. However, when his father gave him a look of warning, he decided not to argue the point. He strode over to the door, where the dead snake was still nailed, and walked through it, slamming it behind him.

Merope was still working on the food, but it didn't look or smell as though she was doing a good job of it. There was a slight burning smell. He chuckled to himself and walked over to the armchair next to the fire, settling down in it. The snake he sometimes carried around was curled up next to it, and he picked it up. He crooned to it a little in Parseltongue, but it did not wake up.

Outside, he heard his father's voice yelling at the Ministry man:

"Are you pure-blood?"

"That's neither here nor there," was the loud response.

"_Mudblood lover …_" Morfin said quietly, giggling a little.

"… Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"

"Inside?" asked Marvolo.

"Yes, Mr. Gaunt," said the Ministry man. "I've already told you. I'm here about Morfin. We've sent an owl –"

Morfin cackled again, remembering the letter his father had torn up, and went back to crooning to his snake. He had no real tune or words, but he whispered on, hardly caring.

"_Hissy hissy, little snakey, slither on the floor … You be good to Morfin or he'll nail you to the door …"_

"All right, all right, all right!" snapped Marvolo. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!"

The door opened again, and both his father and the man walked into the room. Merope shuffled a little, unnerved at the sight of her father, who would no doubt be angry at her for not finishing his meal up yet.

"M'daughter, Merope," said Marvolo Gaunt indifferently.

"Good morning," said the man quietly.

Morfin tuned out their voices, twisting his snake around in his fingers and looking at nothing else aside from it. He had stopped crooning, but he did not add anything to the conversation. A loud banging sound snapped him back into sense, however.

"_Pick it up!_" snarled Marvolo, looking at his daughter angrily.

Morfin continued looking at the wall, not bothering to listen to his father jeering and insulting Merope; he heard it all the time anyway. Merope was practically a Squib with her utter lack of ability to perform magic.

"… so what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him – what about it, then?"

"Morfin has broken wizarding law," the official man said with a firm voice.

"_Morfin has broken wizarding law,_" mocked his father, and Morfin cackled, but still did not look over. "He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson, that's illegal now, is it?"

Morfin listened a bit longer, then heard something about a head of office and slowly looked over at the man, who was staring angrily at his father.

"I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt," the man was saying, looking more and more wary of the situation, yet colder as well.

"That's right!" yelled his father, who brandished the Peverell ring in the man's face. "See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms on it?'

"I've really no idea, and it's quite beside the point, Mr. Gaunt. Your son has committed –"

The rest of the man's reply was something that Morfin did not hear, for Merope had gasped in pain; she was being dragged across the floor by the locket hanging around her neck. Marvolo Gaunt was intent on proving to the man that they were no scum.

"_Slytherin's!_ Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?"

Morfin found it hard to listen, as his sister had staggered by him, gasping for breath and massaging her neck, making loud noises to save her from choking.

"… pure-bloods, wizards all – more than _you_ can say, I don't doubt!" roared his father, who spat at the ground at the man's feet. Morfin cackled at the sight, still twirling his snake around in his fingers, and did not look up.

"… performed a jinx or hex on the said Muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives."

Morfin laughed again, remembering the sight of it … the Riddle boy screaming in pain, dashing away … tearing at his face, covered in hives, the whole way …

"_Be quiet, boy,_" hissed his father angrily, and his laughter silenced.

Still staring at his snake, the next thing Morfin heard was, "Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a Muggle and causing harm and pain to that same Mugg–"

Morfin suddenly stopped listening to the man, as he had heard something. It sounded like laughter. It was coupled by the sound of hooves on a horse. Morfin hissed; he knew who it was. He looked up, turning his head to the sound of the voices. Merope had lost the color in her face again, but this time, Morfin said nothing about it; he was too keen on paying attention to what the horseman said this time.

"My God, what an eyesore!" said a loud female voice, to Morfin's slight surprise: when had a woman been with the man the last time? "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"

"It's not ours," said the voice of Tom Riddle. "Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt and his children. The son's quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village –"

The girl roared with laughter, and Morfin, who was looking to jinx the stupid man again, grasped the arms of the chair to stand, dropping his snake.

"_Keep your seat!_" snapped his father in Parseltongue, and he obediently stayed on the armchair, though he did not take his eyes away from the door.

"Tom, I might be wrong – but has somebody nailed a snake to the door?" the woman asked.

"Good lord, you're right!" Riddle exclaimed. "That'll be the son, I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecelia, darling."

And as Tom Riddle and the Cecelia girl kept going, their voices growing quieter and quieter in the distance, Morfin looked over at his sister, grinning madly.

"'_Darling',_" he said, and there was a slight cackle in his voice. "_'__Darling', he called her. So he wouldn't have you anyway._"

It looked certain that Merope would pass out soon, she had lost so much color in her face, and the response nearly made her faint in terror:

"_What's that?_" snarled their father, and he stared from Merope, then Morfin, and then back to Merope, looking mad himself. "_What did you say, Morfin?_"

Morfin looked at him with a vicious grin and said, "_She likes looking at that Muggle. Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him, isn't she? And last night, hanging out of the window waiting for him to ride home, wasn't she?_"

Merope shook her head frantically, but Morfin merely cackled. Marvolo looked at her.

"_Hanging out of the window to look at a Muggle? Is it true?_" He stepped towards her. "_My daughter – pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin – hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined Muggle?_" he spat.

"_But I got him, Father!_" Morfin hissed, still cackling. "_I got him as he went by, and he didn't look so pretty with hives all over him, did he, Merope?_"

Marvolo Gaunt lost complete control.

"_You disgusting little Squib, you filthy little blood traitor!_" he screamed, grabbing her by the neck.

It was only seconds before Marvolo was blasted backwards off of his daughter, and Morfin turned his head to see the Ministry man with his wand out. That was the last straw for Morfin. He roared in anger, grabbed his wand and knife, and dashed from his chair, slashing with his knife and waving his wand madly, only distinctly aware that spells of all sorts were flying from it.

The Ministry man was in full flight, running as fast as he could away from the cottage, crashing into a horse as he ran. Morfin stopped, looking forward at the man on the horse, and was tempted to curse Tom Riddle right off the horse, but thought better of it. Turning on his heel, he walked back into the shack, slamming the door behind him once again.

* * *

The man had returned shortly after. This time, however, he had brought reinforcements. Morfin tried hard to fight off the half a dozen or so wizards that were here to bring him before the Ministry of Magic, but it was for naught: while he managed to injure three of them, they managed to bring him in.

Morfin did not argue from then on. He was brought before the court, laughed at them when asked for a defense, and was thrown in Azkaban prison without a second thought. The dark, demonic Dementors had little effect on him; his madness was not made of happiness, and this caused little interest for the Dementors. His father was in a cell near his, sentenced to six months in the prison, while Morfin had three years.

The three years passed quickly. After he was released, Morfin returned to the village, to his cottage, to find his father dead on the floor. His sister had run for it. He later learned that she had hoodwinked the same Muggle he had always hated into eloping with her, only for the Muggle to return several months later, claiming the same thing: he had been hoodwinked. The Muggle had returned to his high status, and Morfin lived alone, not caring about the future.

That was to change.

* * *

Though Morfin did not know or care, it had been several years since the day he had been imprisoned. The days whittled away without a thought from Morfin, who drank them away, letting the house dissolve into little more than a giant dumpster.

He had not seen the Muggle called Tom Riddle in a long time. Riddle was presumably taking over the family businesses, and Morfin did not go after him again. He wanted the man dead, but he did not care enough to find him. In fact, he did not care much about anything.

One night, he heard the door knock. He jerked up from his armchair, his hair now so long, coupled with a long beard, that it covered his face. He grabbed his knife and wand and looked up to see the very man he hated so much, carrying a lamp to light his way.

Morfin knew nothing but rage.

"YOU!" he screamed. "YOU!"

He jumped up and ran at the young man, raising his knife as though to hack at him, but was surprised by the reply:

"_Stop._"

The reply was in Parseltongue, and it shocked Morfin enough that he smashed into the table, knocking a bunch of garbage and pans over. He stared at the young man, then spoke up.

"_You speak it?_"

"_Yes, I speak it,_" was the reply.

The intruder looked quite disgusted at Morfin.

"_Where is Marvolo?_" he asked.

Morfin looked confused and replied, "_Dead. Died years ago, didn't he?_"

"_Who are you, then?_" the Riddle look-alike asked, frowning at the place and at Morfin, as though he, too, were confused.

"_I'm Morfin, ain't I?_"

"_Marvolo's son?_"

"_Course I am, then …_"

Morfin trailed off, pushing his hair out of his face. The ring of the Peverells was on his finger; the intruder's eyes looked on it for a split second. Morfin spoke up again.

"_I thought you was that Muggle,_" he said finally."_You look mighty like that Muggle._"

"_What Muggle?_" the younger man asked sharply.

"_That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way,_" was Morfin's angry reply. He spat at the floor. "_You look right like him._"

He remembered the name suddenly, and added, "_Riddle._" Then his memory came back in full. "_But he's older now, i'n 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it … He come back, see,_" he added, clutching the table so he wouldn't fall over.

"_Riddle came back?_" the young man said, moving a little closer.

"_Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!_" He spat at the floor again. "_Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?_"

The other man did not say anything, but Morfin continued anyway. "_Dishonored us, she did, that little slut!_" He looked at the other man now, a thought striking him. "_And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit … it's over …_"

He felt faint, and he only vaguely noticed that the other man was walking towards him, holding his wand up … and all he felt was darkness … when he awoke, it was brighter, and the other man was gone. He looked around, and with horror he realized that his ring was gone as well.

* * *

For some reason, Morfin seemed to have a good memory of going to the big house over the way and killing the people who lived in it, because it was all he could think about when he did not dwell on the ring. He had gone to it, raised his wand and killed Tom Riddle, the Muggle he hated so much. He had killed Riddle's parents along with him. He knew that he had done it, and yet he didn't.

He was arrested for the murders, but he did not care. All that mattered to him was that his father's ring was gone, and his father would look at him in shame … As he was carted back to Azkaban, the ring was all that was on his mind, and he could not think of what could have happened to it.

He did recall an older man with long hair and a long beard coming to visit him years later, but he had had no idea who he was, and he had not cared. The man had used some kind of magic to prowl through his memories, and as he did, Morfin saw visions he did not recall: visions of the filthy Muggle walking out of the shack, the ring of Marvolo Gaunt clutched in his hand …

And all he would remember before he died in Azkaban was the laughter of a voice that sounded like Tom Riddle's, jeering at him from beyond the grave …


End file.
